The Dream and the Discovery
by Alley Cat Sunflower
Summary: Ozpin doesn't exactly set much store by instinct, but sometimes… words fail him. So how exactly will he show Glynda what he thinks of her, when she asks? Very shippy. T for reasons. I do not own RWBY!


Ozpin may have summoned Glynda to his office to inform her of something very important and very personal, but that definitely did not mean he knew what he was going to say.

He was used to planning out every detail of what he would say or do before doing it: Ozpin had been told many a time by many a person that he lived far too much in his head. He had always responded that by doing so, he was able to keep more control over a situation and always have his wits about him. However, Ozpin had neglected to account for matters of the heart, which never failed to muddle his words and scatter his wits.

For one thing, the fact that Glynda now stood before him—as he had requested, yet with a peculiar air of having intended to come regardless—was distraction enough. Dreams were so easy: they allowed him to do and say whatever he wanted without taking into consideration Glynda's realistic response… or his own ineptitude with his heart, and the way cowardice plagued him with its enervating strikes. But this was reality, and as she stood, regarding him with a mixture of curiosity and concern—golden hair (though in places intermingled with a few silver strands) haloed by the rays of setting sun—Ozpin was quite at a loss for words. _I should have planned for this._

"Sir?" she asked, stirring Ozpin out of his half-frantic musings. "Are you all right? You look… unwell." She stepped forward: an involuntary breath sucked itself into Ozpin's lungs at her approach, and there was a pause before he remembered to respond to her question, nodding hastily and unconvincingly a moment later.

"Are you sure?" pressed Glynda, advancing further: Ozpin backed up a step, used to their proximity being dictated by his own terms and not hers. Frowning, Glynda took one more step forward in an almost experimental way, and when Ozpin again struggled to reset the distance between them, Glynda stopped short with a strange mixture of amusement and worry.

There was a moment of silence, during which Ozpin's heart beat wildly alongside his racing mind, before Glynda sighed softly. "I don't understand," she murmured. "Why did you call me here?"

Ozpin almost laughed at the absurdity of the situation. He had summoned Glynda, nor did he regret doing so, but he had done so on a whim—and as a result, he had made himself look ridiculous when he had nothing of importance to say to her. _This is why I don't trust instinct. I don't use it enough for it to be of value for me._

Glynda waited patiently, hands behind her back, as she glanced mildly at Ozpin's face, before he finally sighed—an idea striking him like lightning—and spoke, swallowing his elevated heartbeat in an effort to keep it out of his voice. "…I'm sorry," he began. "I was just… reconsidering the rule about no staff relationships, and thought I should get your input."

Long before Ozpin's black hair had turned to silver, he had decreed that no two staff were to maintain romantic relationships: his reasoning at the time had been 'You'll have enough trouble keeping the coed teams under control without causing problems of your own'. However, in his hubris—which, he flattered himself, he had overcome years ago—he had never imagined that he himself would fall prey to the charms of a coworker.

"Oh, is that all?" asked Glynda, sounding somewhere between surprised and disbelieving. "From the way you were acting, I thought you were displeased with my performance, and that I should pack my bags." She gave him a relieved yet mischievous smile, one rarely bestowed, and the corner of Ozpin's mouth twitched automatically in response.

"I could never fire you," he mumbled, carefully controlled color rising slightly without his permission. "But… that's really beside the point. What do you think I should do?" Unable to stand still any longer, he took up pacing across the room, mind occupied more on where to go from here. _Speaking to hundreds of students is no problem for you, so let's rearrange your priorities a little, Ozpin._

"Honestly, it depends on what your reasons are," she shrugged, glancing at him with an unusually warm green gaze that Ozpin found practically scorching: his blush, which he had worked so hard to bring down, rose again, and he hoped he was far enough away from her that she could not see it. "Previously, when alterations to this rule have been suggested, you haven't even listened to them—you said you had no reason to fix something not broken. However, I notice that for all your talk, you aren't really enforcing the rule very much…"

He nodded distractedly, turning to look at his bookshelf as if perusing its contents. "My reasons," he repeated under his breath. "Think, Ozpin. Well… _because _I'm not enforcing it and nor do I have the resources to do so, it may as well not be a rule," he added more audibly. "That's all."

Glynda raised an eyebrow: Ozpin turned his head away from her, not wanting his blush to deepen any more than it already had. The images from a dream last night, the first he had ever had whose details he had remembered, carried into waking life: even the Ozpin his staff and students knew, focused and cool, sometimes lost his renowned concentration when temptation was brought before him.

"Is that really all?" asked Glynda, and her eyes fairly sparkled with mirth: evidently, his response had not been as professional as was expected of him. "That's never posed much of a problem for you before. You don't just go back on a rule once it's made, even if it's an old rule. So tell me, what's the real reason?" She moved forward to stand before Ozpin, effectively cornering him in the corner between his bookshelf and his window. _Why didn't I move when I had the chance?_

"What do you want me to say?" protested Ozpin, before he could stop himself: speaking like that made him sound more like one of his whiny students than the headmaster, and he knew it. Glynda's eyes widened slightly at his uncharacteristic outburst, but she said nothing as Ozpin continued to silently wish she was either farther away from him or pressed against him.

"…I apologize," amended Ozpin, glancing at the floor in an effort not to look at Glynda, whom he knew was regarding him with amusement. "I only meant that…" He trailed off, realizing there was no other possible interpretation of his words other than he just needed an excuse. _Damn it. _Today was clearly an off day for him: who knew a mere dream could change him this much?

Glynda's smile, visible even in his peripheral vision, unnerved Ozpin: she rarely smiled; the most frequent incidents seemed to be either out of triumph, like now, or relief. "So… who is it?"

Ozpin could have sworn, as a frown flickered momentarily across her face, that Glynda registered the jump in his heartbeat. This was the moment of truth. She had asked directly for whom he would break a hallowed rule, the first he had implemented upon becoming Headmaster: now, he must either respond, or die.

"The only time you would even consider altering rules are if you're breaking them," continued Glynda, peering more closely at him when he failed to reply. "In those cases, you change the rules ever so slightly. For example, you started allowing food in the offices because you love your cookies so much."

Ozpin sighed guiltily before a memory echoed back to him from not too long ago. "You're not so innocent yourself," he pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "You ate _all _my gingersnaps that one time."

"Don't change the subject!" exclaimed Glynda, color heightening slightly, and Ozpin knew she was thinking of how she had lost half her cookie down her shirt in front of him. Ozpin found himself unable to suppress a smile, which seemed to soften her expression slightly.

"…Fine," she murmured, glancing away from him. "If you don't want to say for whom you're breaking your rule, I'm not exactly in a position to ask questions. I'm sorry for intruding on your privacy," she added, vivid green gaze meeting Ozpin's apologetically. "Do forgive me."

Before Ozpin could affirm that he would, Glynda—evidently assuming that staying in her only superior's office after possibly insulting him would be unwise—backed up and started walking away.

"Wait." Ozpin, following, caught her wrist to punctuate his words: Glynda gasped slightly as she turned to face him, wand automatically springing into her hand. Eyeing it, he swallowed instinctively: his face had had more encounters (mostly accidental) with the crop end of that wand than he cared to think about. "I can't _tell _you for whom I'm breaking the rule," Ozpin began, before realizing that the way he had placed the emphasis was clue enough.

Glynda's frown deepened once, convulsively, before her eyes widened, blush heightening. She breathed something to herself, and Ozpin—realizing he still held her wrist—let go abruptly: Glynda rubbed it, lost in thought, before giving a sigh Ozpin could have sworn was shaky and giving him a brief yet brilliant smile.

"So show me," she murmured. "But make it good."

Over a minute of fierce debate and futile planning passed before Ozpin resolved to give his instincts one final chance. He stepped forward, heart beating intensely enough to be painful, and touched Glynda's cheek softly: she jumped, closed eyes flying open, but rested her bare hand on his gloved one a moment later, looking into his eyes with encouragement and challenge distributed evenly among her own.

And Ozpin knew then what he must do, as dictated by his heart and her gaze.

He leaned forward tentatively, gently drawing her mouth up to his when he met no resistance: their lips met tenderly. No sooner had an infinitessimal distance separated their mouths, than Glynda's wand clattered to the ground and she practically threw her arms around him, closing the gap once more and forcing his mouth to acknowledge hers as dominant.

He refused. Ozpin had done this dance before, many a time, and his body remembered days gone by better than his mind ever could: he trailed a single, gloved finger up and down Glynda's spine, relishing the shiver that he could feel running through her. Valuing for the first time physical intimacy over mental, he closed his eyes lazily, allowing the sense of touch to take priority.

Ozpin's hands had found their way to Glynda's waist by the time they finally broke apart, each breathing hard: seconds or minutes might have passed since their contest began. Unable to look Glynda in the eye as his mind regained control over his body, he cleared his throat slightly, no words presenting themselves to him to seal whatever deal he knew had just been struck.

"And to think that _I'm_ the woman to disprove the rumor," murmured Glynda, half to herself, and gave him a lopsided smile before turning and sashaying towards the door. Ozpin blinked, resenting the turn his thoughts took once more, and would have been content to watch her walk away… were it not for his curiosity.

"What rumor?" he called after her: Glynda turned back and—eyes twinkling—gave him an oddly girlish giggle. Ozpin couldn't suppress a smile in return, relieved that their dynamic had not changed too much, though a jolt of lightning (amusement and annoyance intertwined) shot through him at Glynda's reply:

"Sir, anyone with as much natural passion as yourself could never—as the staff believe—be a virgin."

**((This was just… a scene in my head. o/o I'm sorry if it's a little OOC…))**


End file.
